


Why the Caged Bird Sings

by SkyeBlu1218



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Short One Shot, maybe more than one, my moods shift on a dime, no smut yet but if I do multiple chapters then eventually, not really violent but it mentions blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25725115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeBlu1218/pseuds/SkyeBlu1218
Summary: Will wasn't expecting any visitors tonight. Hannibal thought he might let himself in.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 27





	Why the Caged Bird Sings

Rain pattered the windows of Will Graham's small, secluded house in the woods, making rhythmic sounds that might have lulled him to sleep any other night, much like the sounds of his many dogs' breathing, reminding him in the stillness of his own silence that the living, whatever form they took, man or beast, still accompanied him in the dead of night. This night, he was accompanied by another beast. His shadow moved across the floor like a great white gliding through briny waters. There was always a grimness about him, the kind of grimness one felt when reading classical literature. The sensation that everything related to the man was long dead. _But_ _his_ _smile_ , Will thought, staring unmoving at the polished shoes before his bed, _that_ , certainly, _held_ _a_ _spark_ _of_ _life_.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal greeted him softly. The lilt of his voice followed him to his dreams. Hearing it here was only natural. _There_ _it_ _is_ , he thought, finally looking to his guest's face. That _smile_. And he returned it with a weary one of his own.

"I wasn't expecting you," Will murmured, one eyebrow arching itself seemingly of its own accord. Sarcasm, however unprofessional, seeped into his voice like blood into white cotton. But things between them were hardy professional, as evidenced by this late night visit. Hannibal's smile morphed into a smirk, a tug of the lips, a twinkle of his eyes. He sat on the bedside, a shrug falling from his shoulders. He caressed Will's hair as he spoke, not quite looking at him.

"That was my design," he teased, playfully mussing his curls. "Unexpectedness brings about more _genuine_ reactions, don't you think?"

"And what sort of reaction were you seeking, Hannibal? And to what exactly am I supposed to react?"

Hannibal sighed, a breath of content. It brought him a simple pleasure to touch Will this way. A small intimacy in the nature of it gave him the sort of happiness he had not felt since his last sunrise in Europe.

"I want you to be mine, Will," Hannibal told him, his tone as concise and casual as when he had begun, and now, he looked at him, deep into his soul, scouring his face like no other. "I want to own you. To cage you. But in doing so, to set you free. I want you to be mine, mentally, spiritually and. . .physically." This time his smile seemed razor sharp, glinting in the moonlight, and Will found his heart beating not faster, but harder. The rain filled the momentary silence as Hannibal read Will, and he let him. Either way, they both knew, Hannibal had come to be satisfied. If he could not have Will's heart, he would eat it. _A_ _harvest_ , Will thought. _Keep_ _me_ _or_ _kill_ _me_. He was not afraid, not of Hannibal and not of death. This they both knew as well.

Will took a breath, gathering his thoughts into words. "What did you want me to do, exactly?" he asked, peering at him curiously. Hannibal's caressing hand voyaged to cup his chin, stroking his lower lip with his thumb.

"To be quite still, I think. You see. . .to keep you, I must make you sufficiently mine, yes?" As he spoke he leaned into Will's space, pinning him to the mattress with merely his presence. Their breath mingled. Will's heart pounded. The rain, as ever, dripped.

"What does that entail?" he breathed, barely more than a whisper. Hannibal's gaze was fixated on his lips, hungry, or perhaps even ravenous. His hands, a moment before resting on Will's wrists, began to tighten, manacles made from their tension, binding Hannibal as much as Will.

"A kiss of death," he replied, meeting his gaze momentarily, "and the drawing of blood." And he pressed their lips together, kissing into him all the wrongness that came with those lips, the carnal nature of what he consumed and the vile way he masqueraded it as quality taste. Those lips came with sin and blood, and Will stopped for not a moment to protest, did not even consider the thought. He was so absorbed in the taste of Hannibal's kiss that only the sting of a needle brought his focus back to the rain and the room. A gasp, unheeded, broke the kiss, followed by a bout of rippling vision. A needle hit the floor, discarded after Hannibal withdrew it from Will's hip. He stared at him, nonplussed, as the drug began to sink in.

"My pardon for being so crude in collecting you," Hannibal apologized, his brow furrowed. Will's head lolled back as he drew his limp body into his lap, exposing his pale throat, from which came a small noise of annoyed protest. He could not, with the aide of the paralyzing agent, summon much more than that.

"Yes, I know," he sympathized, frowning as he trailed his fingers over Will's neck. "But you mustn't know where we're going. That is to be discussed later, after I've finished here. I've always wondered, Will. . .what you might taste like. . . .?" Hannibal's lips connected to Will's throat, and he could feel his pulse there under his gentle kiss, not fast, but certainly pumping harshly. What made his heart beat this way? Hannibal wondered. Fear? Desire? Excitement? Will never ceased to surprise him. It was one of the reasons he was still alive. Will's breath caught in his throat as the kiss became something else: a love bite, and not a soft one. His teeth dug into Will's neck, just as razor sharp as Will had thought, but the pain was merely an accelerant for the excitement he felt, the thrumming need for more. _The_ _drug_ , he reasoned in a far away place, lost to the sensations Hannibal was providing. _The drug is making this. . .pleasurable?_

Blood, hot and thick, flowed from beneath Hannibal's lips, and he drank it up the way he tasted wine, noting the flavor, reveling in the origins (on this occasion, from a place far more prestigious than his most aged, finest bottle), delighting in the lingering taste it left in his mouth. Slowly, he withdrew his now-red lips from Will's throat, beaming at his prize. He was like a dove, shot down in the forest, but this dove was not shot to be killed. He was shot to be kept.

"I'm going to take you away now, Will," Hannibal told him, standing, cradling him in his arms. The blood flowed less freely now, and though Will's face was rather slack, his lips held the hint of a smile. "I've already made arrangements. They'll be here by morning, thinking I have killed you." Only the needle and the quarter sized bloodstains would tell, but Hannibal had something of a reputation. They would not expect him to keep Will alive. He walked briskly out the door, leaving behind the room where Will dreamed his lonely nightmares, into a much more real, much more beautiful one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. :) Tell me what you think, wontcha?  
> I literally wrote this at one in the morning. Shout out to the night owls, huh?


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